MOM asked me to store the freshly-baked cookies in tins way up high. To keep the Labrador retriever out of them, but also (I think) to keep you guys out of them. She doesn't want them disappearing overnight.

In addition to favorite cookies, one of my kids (Moonglow) has requested smoked salmon. Now where on earth am I going to store that so everyone stays out of it?

What does an artistic ping pong table look like? It's not like a pool table so it doesn't have to be flat and level, one hazards as a guess? Did you build it out of drift wood or build rock cairns and level a piece of plywood across the top of them?

The table was tournament standard but it came in two halves with a mess of pipes, legs, levelers, and plastic bags full of bolts, washers and odd parts. The instructions and drawings were Ikea-grade. Perseverance and re-inspection and re-reading of the instructions, endless parsing and re-examination of bits saw it through and in the end we set up the net and played energetic ping pong on it. Whew! I had forgotten how much exertion is invested in a lively game of mere table tennis!

Never played REAL poker, have ya? The energy expended in the knife fight alone could power San Diego for a year! Why, the wind turbines here are powered solely by the air moved by the insults shouted at each other by poker players.

Blustering his own bugle again. I shall refrain from obvious comments regarding Shame and wind instruments as there is enough violins in the world. But his does piccolo instrument to play upon, since he can't get to first bass with the young ladies, much less score a double. While he hasn't been completely sober recently he is a soubrette, having been caught with the lute while plucking Viola's G-string. As a result Shame is missing both his tremolos and his largo because of her father's Dies Irae.

Of course they pronounce new as "noo". HTF else does anyone else pronounce it? Neeooh? Nee... oh never mind.

I have flung all my windows open! On Kissmeaas Eve! I just did four laps on my dead end street before my back said, "STOP NOW!" It's positively balmy! Thank goodness winter is over as I have learned (accepted?) to hate snow and cold. The older I get, the colder I get.

It's quiet. Not a creature is stirring except for my mouse and keyboard. The usual distant roar of traffic with open windows is on mute. It is a Silent Night. Can't see the full moon due to clouds but I feel it. Or maybe that's the wine.

God bless the MOAB siblings all, The manly, wiley, tiny, tall The kind and mindless, bright of eyes The wise and, too, the otherwise. God bless the foolish, loud and banal The quick, the generous, the anal The Mother Santa, and her elves. But better yet, let's bless ourselves!

May you have a grand evening, a rewarding day, and an excellent New Year.

Woe to the sibs on Christmas Day Who give their minds and hearts away To folly, social games, and drinking Never pausing, never thinking That quietly, in solitude Our Mom observes the passing Yule And starved of human admiration Forgoes all joy and celebration! How cruel to hide in some bright prom. ANd leave ignored our loving Mom! On you who her just fruits deny I say "For shame!" and also "Fie!" And more, indeed, I'd also say For spurning Mom on Xmas day. But that would need unfortunate timing As well as far excessive rhyming.

Poor old Mom was crying in her beer, For nowhere anywhere did she hear The lovely sound of Christmas song, Of wrapping paper being ripped, Of joyful laughter all along, Of homemade eggnog being sipped, The joys to which she was accustomed On Christmas Day were somehow missing -- And what to her wondering ears should appear (Above the sounds of submisteltoe kissing) But her favorite offspring, whom she holds so dear: The bold Rapparee! Of course she loves All her other children, all, And I shall name them: Rapparee, Amos, Stilly, Acme, gnu, Teresa, Khandu, Bobert, GUEST, Clinton Hammond, Eisley, Joe Offer, Liz the Squeak, GUEST #, Peace, Bee-dubya-ell, Oh dear, I can't remember them all...and the rhyme scheme and meter have broken down --

God spare the day on which I might have died To see my poetry and Rapp's shown side by side. My meter, scansion, delicate nuance Compared to some mud-cloggéd savage dance By thumping boots on some unfeeling flooring-- Enough to leave me comatose, and snoring! And if on holy days the Lord sends bennies Let him send me mine alone, or else not any! SOme things, for sure, in love are not worth bearing And one of these must be this grim comparing!

I thought I wood right a flippin' pome To, like, show that I am, like...all growen And that I am not a flippin' goof That don't even know the floor from, like...the roof? And when this flippin' pome is proper done I will, like, go and steel a flippin' gun So I can.....so I....

Oh, for flip's sake!

Go rite one yerself then if you think your so smart! I got stuff to do. REal Important stuff. Stuff you only WISH you could do, eh?

Well, at least that's over. The chicken and all the fixins were good. I even had some Spumante Bambino... and liked it. I was looking forward to the full moon but, alas, my catwracks messed that up. I got two dozen date cookies from Aunt Charmaine. I don't eat sweets but her date cookies, which I eat straight from the freezer, are irresistible.

I hope all of you had a great day. I must check Facebook for Texas pics. I am sure a few were taken. >;-)

I am sure Rapp joins me in wishing you all the great and simple joy of a happy New Year.

Don't ask him for anything more complicated, as he will be sure to muddy it up with a cloud of detailed persiflage, obscure conundrums and miscellaneous irrelevancies.

Plus ca change, etc., doncher know.

But all this notwithstanding he is surely an upright man in full, a bold defender of many things, some of which are surely worth defending, and owner of a large and generous heart. So send him blessings too, for the best of all possible years ahead

Oh, I feel the same as Amos. I want everyone everywhere to have a wonderful, peaceful, and prosperous New Year and for every New Year to be the same.

But now, I must trudge my road alone, bereft of understanding and comfort. For on January 4 I will have something stuck in my right eye, and on the 19th that eye will undergo the knife. It will be an attempt, which will probably fail, to correct a vision problem. But I am resigned to failure and a life of half-blindness. But there is a ray of hope, for I could then wear an eyepatch and go a-pirating on the Portneuf and Snake Rivers, save that I have neither boat nor ship.

But I must take slight umbrage with your preceding statements. I greatly fear that you have insulted my forebears and kin and I must ask you for a formal apology in this same forum. You need not abase yourself, or give thousands to a church, or crawl on your belly in the dust and dung while craving my forgiveness. But a simple apology and contrition, with a promise that if you do it again you will cut a finger off or something, will suffice. I am not a wrathful, vengeful, god person.